Dismissed
by ChekhovTheTroper
Summary: We all have to move on, eventually.


**DISCLAIMER: ****_Glee _****is not in my possession. I wanted to possess Cory Monteith to pay off a friend's debt...but now...**

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There was no way to properly describe it. No one could comprehend the chiseled casket that was brought through the crowd, or the nonchalant pastor that spoke without the knowledge of who this boy was. There was a mixed reception about him, yes. He wasn't always the nicest, or the smartest, but at least he cared. He was someone who made the most of high school hypocrisies and fifth-column slushie pranks.

He was Finn Hudson, but now this Finn Hudson was dead.

Rachel Berry sobbed into her crumpled Kleenexes, turning away from the stuporous undertakers that padded down the aisle with the casket. Coach Sylvester leaned towards her ear, whispering grimly, "So, this isn't about the makeup running?"

Rachel shook her head, not understanding the joke. Sue acknowledged the shrewd confusion and abandoned the topic. However, she heard Rachel's squeaky response: "How could this have happened?"

"I don't know, kiddo," Sue shrugged, resigning from any humorous undercurrents. "I don't know."

Santana was expectedly distraught, crying louder than anyone else in the crowd. What was painful about it was how genuine the cries were. This wasn't a hissy fit about an exposed bra strap or a haphazard tan line. This was an actual tragedy she could not abandon. Quinn joined her despair with equivocal force, cupping her face to avoid making a terrible mess of herself. Mercedes kept a closed fist to her mouth, shaking her head to diminish the threatening tears that tickled her eyes. Kurt was unusually quiet, his face somber and picturesque. However, he dug his hand into Blaine's, biting the inside of his cheek whenever his breath caught in his teeth. Artie fidgeted in his wheelchair, narrowing his eyes at the askew garlands scattered across Finn's tombstone. He would've made a sardonic remark at how unprofessional it was to orchestrate such an enormous funeral for a beloved William McKinley alumnus and not have the sympathy wreaths properly aligned. However, sitting next to his ex-girlfriend Tina (who was occupied with swiping at the bangs in her eyes) kept him silent.

There were many others in the crowd, too many forlorn acquaintances to name. The pastor at the podium was not able to assuage them, as he repeatedly mispronounced the high school's name and mixed up Finn's background with that of other students. He removed his glasses and asked everyone to join in a holy prayer. However, Sue Sylvester stood up, dressed in a black gym suit.

"Hold on, Brother Jim," she interjected, stalking onto the stage. "I think we need a speech from a former McKinley coach, wouldn't you agree?"

"Now, Miss Sylvester—?"

"_Coach_."

"Coach Sylvester," the pastor said nervously, fumbling with the mic, "don't you think this is a little informal?"

Sue didn't reply. She approached the podium and observed the crowd. Melting Revlon mascara, abundant clutters of Kleenex, nostalgic class rings—Sue knew the scene almost too well. She took a step back and cupped her mouth, only to have the speakers reverberate from the shrill wit of her whistle. When the crowd covered their ears and shot each other bewildered looks, Sue nodded and the whistle dipped from her mouth.

"Alright, listen up. This is no time to crawl around and squawk like magpies. We're not in a national crisis. Life is still going to go on, and we're still gonna fuck up, but that's just it. I mean, you're all acting like you've never been to a funeral before. This isn't the first, I highly doubt this'll be the last, and Granny Panties here would tell you that."

Sue took a shallow breath, glared at the unsettled mourners, and ventured further.

"You think I don't care, do you? Just because I'm not crying, and I'm not acting like my whole world's been shattered, I suddenly don't care? Of course I do. I always have, but I don't want to prolong this. Finn—Finn's a good kid. He had the intellect of turtle soup sometimes, but he knew where he was going. I didn't want this to happen to him. I don't want this to happen to anyone. When I got the call, the first thing I thought was maybe he knocked some girl up or had gotten into a scuffle over some hair products. I didn't think it was…"

At that point, Sue halted, clearing her throat when her voice broke. The pastor patted her back, to which she did not fight against. However, she resumed her composure quickly.

"I'm not saying that it's bad to mourn a loss. I do that every day. I think to myself, what the fuck was I thinking? I'll never do that again. I make mistakes, and he did too. Except…the point is we have to move on from this. It hasn't even been a week yet, and everyone acts like the world is going to end. I've fought tooth and nail to make sure that this class comes out right, and I don't want a graduate's death to _ever_ shatter that. As mawkish as this sounds, he is in a better place, and I bet he's probably got some archangel pregnant already. He's all right now, so we should be, too."

Sue hadn't expected the applause from her alumni. It wasn't cheesy and uproarious, but it was encouraging for her. A hard smile stretched across her face. She ran a hand through her hair and ignored the pastor's awkward attempt to get her off the stage.

"Alright, then," Sue said. "Instead of closing out in prayer, how about we get the glee club up here to sing a final hymn? Anyone? It'd be good closure for all of us."

Rachel was the first to arrive on stage, followed by Mercedes and Tina. Eventually all the other graduates joined them. Sue sauntered back to her seat as the pastor clumsily waved his hand, usurping the dismal repertoire with an arrangement from Psalms 23. The opening cajoled the singers to start, stark vocals melding with a supple optimism. As the first chorus commenced, the casket sunk into the ground, thornless roses scattered across the glazed wood before the undertakers started shoveling the dirt into the ground. By the time the song picked up the second verse, the singers' confidence had grown, taking the antique hopefulness in stride. Sue hummed the lyrics under her breath, thumping her feet in tune with the song.

The service was over, and the reception was being moved to the Hudsons' house due to the oncoming rainstorm. The graduates left the graveyard, eyes rimmed red and smiles faltering. Sue approached the pastor with a curt grin on her face. "So, other than that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?"

"In all my years, to be upstaged by the Cheerios' head vulture," the pastor grumbled, unable to fight his chuckles.

"Yep, you don't see me strut like that on Sundays, do you?"

"Just don't do it again, amen?"

"Amen." Sue shook his hand and watched him amble onto the sidewalk. When she was alone, she turned back to the tombstone. She could see the gilt inscription from afar, so she found no need in approaching it. However, she grinned again, pensiveness overcoming her demeaning persona. She nodded, a quick dip of the head, but said before turning around to leave: "Good luck, kid. Class dismissed."

_Finn Christopher Hudson_

_1994-2013_

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**A/N: I admit, I am not a Gleek. If I messed up w/ grammar or continuity, let me know; but I was just as shocked as the actual Gleeks when I found out about Cory's unexpected death. This one-shot isn't putting down anyone mourning Cory's death, but this is as if Sue Sylvester was telling us to relax. It's sad that it happened, but we can't glorify it too much. It's not about the show or the character anymore. This is about a poor guy's death, just when he could've reached his full potential. However, we can't make a frantic scene about it. People are going to die, and it's sad to see it happen, but everything will be okay in the end. All that matters is he's in a good place now.**

**Rest in peace, Cory Allan-Michael Monteith. You will be missed.**

**-Peace from the gun-troper**


End file.
